Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Rom. Did not attend him as we rode? I thinke
Rom. He told me Paris should haue married Iuliet.
Rom. Said he not so? Or did I dreame it so?
Rom. Or am I mad, hearing him talke of Iuliet,
Rom. To thinke it was so? O giue me thy hand,
Rom. One, writ with me in sowre misfortunes booke.
Rom. Ile burie thee in a triumphant graue.
Rom. A Graue; O no, a Lanthorne; slaughtred Youth:
Rom. For here lies Iuliet, and her beautie makes
Rom. This Vault a feasting presence full of light.
Rom. Death lie thou there, by a dead man inter'd.
Rom. How oft when men are at the point of death,
Rom. Haue they beene merrie? Which their Keepers call
Rom. A lightning before death? Oh how may I
Rom. Call this a lightning? O my Loue, my Wife,
Rom. Death that hath suckt the honey of thy breath,
Rom. Hath had no power yet vpon thy Beautie:
Rom. Thou are not conquer'd: Beauties ensigne yet
Rom. Is Crymson in thy lips, and in thy cheekes,
Rom. And Deaths pale flag is not aduanced there.